A Letter to Me
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: At fourteen, Mark Cohen was bullied to the point of a suicide attempt. Three years later he's grown up, learned a little more about himself, and decides to write himself a little letter... Rated for implications. Oneshot.


**A/N: Consider this a public service announcement. In the past year I've become more aware of bullying and more involved in putting a stop to it. Next year I'll have an active role in the anti-bullying campaign in my school, especially against LGBT students as well as others in the community. This came to mind and I knew I had to write it. I hope that you take it to heart.**

Disclaimer: RENT belongs to the future of musical theatre, Jonathan Larson.

**A Letter to Me**

_Dear Mark,_

I bet I know exactly what you're doing today. It's the same thing you do every day, isn't it? You're sitting in the basement, tucked into a corner behind all of the boxes that never got unpacked during the move and probably never will. You're hugging your knees to your chest. It's burning and so are your eyes, but you're not going to cry, or at least you tell yourself that.

I know that it sucks. I was there, once. I mean, it's been a couple of years. But I remember.

I remember your first day of school when the other kids made fun of your lunch because your mom wrote a cutesy little note on your napkin, wishing you luck.

I remember your first friend, who six years later told everyone about the time you wet the bed at a sleepover with them and severed all ties that they had with you, just because you weren't one of the "cool kids".

Neither were they- but they sure thought they were.

I remember all of the times that you were harassed for not ogling the girls with their boobs popping out of their tube tops at the mall, for not looking up Mrs. Henderson's skirt when she bent over, for hanging out with the "nerds" or just by yourself because you can't take it anymore.

I know that it sucks being called a queer all the time- especially when you're not sure yet _what _you are.

And I know that freshman year isn't the easiest. It feels like the end of the world. No one knows you, no one understands you, and everything is too much. Too much stress. Too many things to worry about all at once.

Grades. Your parents fighting, yelling, throwing things while you sit in your room helplessly, staring at your ceiling in the dark. The kids who push you around at school, the same ones who taunted you so much on the bus that you decided you could walk the mile and a half to school every day rather than deal with them.

Maureen isn't the only girl in the world. Don't worry about her- she'll be back. And even if she didn't want you back, she's still your friend. She always will be. Roger, too.

You don't have to listen to them. You don't have to hide. I know it feels like you're trapped in this shithole of a town forever, but you're not! In a few years you're going to graduate- you're going to take off, go wherever you want to go, do whatever you want to do! All you have to do is tough it out. And no matter how low you feel now, you'll be up again eventually.

I promise that things will get better.

Now, I have a few requests to make of you. I know that it's daunting, but it's going to help, I swear.

Go up to the counseling office, get a pass. Skip out on lunch some day and go talk to someone. You can't keep all of this bottled up, no matter how much you want to. Who _cares_ if someone sees you walking down there- let them call you a pussy. You've got more guts than they ever did.

Stop collecting razors, pocket knives. You don't need to bleed for someone else's carelessness. Their words can only hurt you if you pay them any heed.

Those things they say about you? They're not true. You're only fourteen, you have so much POTENTIAL! Listen to me. You're a good person. You're going to have a bright future, a great group of friends, a life worth living. Don't throw it all away.

Put away that bottle of pills. Don't let them win.

All you're doing is proving them right.

You're _stronger_ than this, Mark.

If only dad had been around more. If mom had had the time, between jobs, to make Cindy stop tormenting you and maybe if Maureen was a little less short-sighted, paid a little more attention to you. Maybe you wouldn't be feeling like this now.

But 'what ifs' are pointless. You know that then and I know it now.

I want you to know that you're not alone.

It's going to get better. You'll see.

_Sincerely,_

_Mark Cohen, 17_


End file.
